Broward Center Acoustics Shine When Sound System Shorts Out

The Broward Center for the Performing Art`s main hall has been open for nearly a year, and musical-theater audiences still don`t know how good the sound really is.

The center`s Broadway Series has packed the house for every show, from The Phantom of the Opera and A Chorus Line to The Music of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Bye Bye Birdie, Cats and now Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story. Most troupes bring in their own electronic sound systems, a practice the industry considers necessary to maintain a balance of quality in a wide range of auditoriums.

A lot of the newer halls don`t need it, and the Broward Center is one of them. The point struck home on New Year`s Eve, during the opening performance of Cats in the center`s Au-Rene Theater. A few bars into the comic ditty Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, the electrics went out on Dennis Glasscock and Lori Lynch, and the orchestra as well.

At first, it was as if a door had slammed shut. The brash, high-octane pop noise that forces audiences to lean backward in their seats disappeared, leaving behind what seemed like whispers.

Pop singers aren`t used to singing without microphones; most don`t project the way old Broadway troupers did, and opera singers still do. So Glasscock and Lynch didn`t even try to fill the 2,700-seat, two-balcony hall with their own power.

But within a few seconds, something else happened. As listeners` ears adjusted to the new dynamics, it became obvious the hall`s natural acoustics were giving the two singers and the orchestra a satiny sheen.

More importantly, the song`s lyrics were clear as a bell. Each syllable found its own definition before blending into the next.

From the pit, the musical score`s tricky little gimmicks and subtle shadings added bounce to the song, playing at the edges of the singers` voices.

The hall`s acoustics were showing off.

The audience had to sit up and cock their ears forward to catch it, though perhaps it wouldn`t have been necessary if a Bernadette Peters or Betty Buckley -- who can project -- had been onstage. Even so, it`s a different kind of listening experience from the type depicted in Memorex ads showing a man plastered into his chair by rushing sound waves.

The situation continued for several minutes until someone fixed whatever short circuit had occurred. The huge speakers flanking the stage kicked back in with what seemed like pocket explosions, and Cats resumed its sassy growl. The orchestra seemed to bleat again, and the singers` lyrics kept running into one another in the air above the audience`s heads for the rest of the show.

The amplifier-driven sound is good by modern standards, once the technicians customize the dial settings for the performance. And it is an open secret both backstage and out in the theater industry that, sometimes, those lyrics really are on Memorex, or some other brand tape. Unless the singer makes a big lip- sync gaff, there often is no way to tell for sure.

But some halls don`t need it. A few, like the Broward Center`s Au-Rene, are better off without it. As audiences for several Broadway Series productions can attest, amplification distorts the room`s pleasant natural acoustics and makes it a chore to understand and appreciate all that`s going on.

Productions that move in a day before opening and have little time to finesse the electronic settings are worse off. Some even put the sound engineer inside a booth, where there is absolutely no way to know exactly what the audience is hearing. What is piped into the engineer`s earphones by wire is seldom related to what`s tumbling around the auditorium.

Symphony and opera fans already know exactly how good each show really is in the Au-Rene. It`s a shame that musical theater crowds, who are paying the center`s freight, may never find out.

Unless some producer gets enough confidence, and nerve, to pull the plug.